Rodney Strange's Blog, page 15

'Socially Disillusioned'

With Author Rodney Strange

I'm just about ready to throw in the towel, hang it all up, chuck up the sponge, cry uncle, roll over and play dead, spank the monkey...no wait, that doesn't belong in this sentence. Quit. I'm almost ready to quit...social media. Social media is not worth it's weight in goat turds anymore. If I could recoup all the time and energy I've invested in social media over the years and cash it in, I could retire. I could retire anyway, I suppose, but what would I do with my time now that social media is dead? Yes, I believe it...social media is dead.
The great minds who created social media and took it to heights never imagined have in turn set out to destroy it. Greed overcame them, clouding their vision of a new virtual world where the masses would never have to leave the comfort of their homes to interact. And the masses loved it...until greed reared it's ugly head.
Remember the early days of Facebook? Co-workers, friends, classmates, and family all gathered together via the internet, seperated by miles, states, and countries, yet able to connect with one another with their fingertips. We liked and poked each other until the wee hours of the morning, our bloodshot eyes straining to focus on the computer screen before us. Nowdays, what's for supper and little Sally's piano recital have been shoved into oblivion, replaced with advertising disguised as social media. Thoses who think they know us better than we know ourselves sit in their cubicles beneath florescent lighting, deciding what we can and cannot see. Rather than investing time and resources into giving us better opportunities to connect with each other, they devoted their research to how to make another billion dollars. Yes, we still take our daily scroll through our facebook timeline, bored at the fake content thrust upon us, but hoping...still hoping for a glimpse of those days long gone.
Twitter. Yes, twitter is a different critter and not for everyone. And it is faltering as we speak. I can remember back in the early days of twitter how I would announce my new weekly blog post every Sunday night. My website would literally crash from the invasion of eager readers flooding the server. Yeah...no, that doesn't happen anymore. Back in those days I had around six thousand followers. Today I have twenty seven thousand and I'm lucky to get a handful of link clicks to my blog. Twitter never found it's purpose, nor did we. There's not much you can say in 140 characters including spaces and punctuation. Perhaps it was the novelty of those limitations that even gave twitter a chance, but those same limitations are taking it to the grave. Now, the only twitter frequenters are trying to hawk something or another to folks who don't want to buy anything. We all want to sell something! Twitter is like a Mary Kay convention. Everybody wants a pink cadillac. Oh sure, there are a few who just wish to have their voices heard. My timeline is filled with haters, Republican haters, Democrat haters, gay haters, straight haters, God haters, cat haters. None of these folks seem to want to buy anything from the Mary Kay tweeters. They just want to hate. And to drive the final nail in their coffin, Twitter has now decided they will follow Facebook's lead and decide what we should see. Let me think...what do I want to see on Twitter? Thank goodness, I will no longer have to make that decision.
Pinterest appeared out of nowhere when Facebook kicked us peasants aside, making a place for us to post our pictures of food and clothing and random flowers growing in random places. Now, I really try to get all worked up over Pinterest but apparently I'm just not one of 'those people.' I dunno, I have a dog who sleeps all the time. I suppose I could put up a few pics of it. Can't imagine who would want to see a sleeping dog...or random flowers...or random food. But, the good news is, if you have a super photo of last night's dinner, Pinterest will let you promote it to thousands...for a fee, of course.
Here's the dilemma. All these social media sites cropped up at a time when entrepreneurs were literally crawling out of the woodwork. It offered people like me an opportunity to put ourselves out there, giving us a fighting chance of making our dreams a reality. When those social media sites realized this, they saw dollar signs. The common social media browser, i.e. us normal folks who are just killing some time while supper is cooking, are of little value to the social giants. These people are, however, of enormous value to the entrepreneur. As a result, social media has become one continuous newsfeed of advertising. And nobody is getting rich except the social media sites like Facebook and Twitter. Frankly I don't want to see exclusive updates from Donald J. Trump...I want to see little Sally's piano recital! So, frustrated, I put the laptop down and go find something else to do. And the more I do that and the more you do that, the closer social media comes to it's demise.
When social media draws its last breath, what on earth will we all do with our eight hundred dollar cell phones? We may actually have to call somebody...shudder at the thought! Perhaps the time has come for us to get a life! 

'ill will'

With author Rodney Strange  (Authors note:  I may have embellished this story a tad bit.)

I have reached the point of exasperation brought on by undue provocation! Yes, harassment in it's utmost form, uncut, undiluted...dealt out with the precision of a North Korean rocket. I've been carpet bombed from all directions and I've found it necessary to go underground for my own protection...so....shhh! I'm hiding. I've let my phone battery die. Parked my pickup way back by the cotton field so folks can't drive by and see that I'm really home. I sit here in the dark to avoid raising any suspicion. I'm making an earnest effort to stay off facebook, you know that's a dead giveaway!
"Oh, look! He didn't die of a massive heart attack while taking his morning dump! He's right here on facebook! See that little green dot?"
I've had a rash of misfortune, well not me directly although it is affecting me directly. I've got so many family members and friends in the hospital, we're needing an entire wing dedicated to us. Problem is, they're scattered out in hospitals all across west Texas. This would be a whole lot easier on me if I could just get them all grouped together...in a single room would be ideal. You know how folks are when they're in the hospital. They're NEEDY! Well they think they are. Fact is, they really don't need anything. Three meals a day, free open-air apparel, and literally someone there to answer their every beck and call, even empty their bedpan. And they have drugs, high powered drugs that make them delusional. They think weird stuff, like for instance..they think I should be right there, sitting in the room, watching them be sick. Can you relate?
I know I'm twisted a bit different than some. I see entire families up at the hospital, a dozen at a time! The kids all gathered around the foot of grandma's bed staring at the little bitty TV hanging from the ceiling while their mothers huddle around the lavatory mixing up formula. Uncle Louie is grilling steaks on a propane grill over by the window. Grandma's snoring, oblivious to the chaos surrounding her thanks to an overdose of hydrocodone. That's what family's for...I heard you think that.
I don't come from a big family and what family I have is in the hospital except for me and my daughter. We're stretched pretty thin right now. There's a map hanging in the kitchen and every day the two of us gather around it.
"Okay, you hit this hospital then make your way across the city to this one." I trace a route with my finger, "and I will take this one...this one..and that one."
Yes, we've had to split up to cover more distance. Have I mentioned it's forty miles to the nearest hospital? I'm always the last one to finish because, hey she's seventeen. Pop in..."Hi, thought I'd stop by. Gotta run!"
The sick people don't expect much from her because she's a busy girl and they know it. Me on the other hand...I got nothing better to do but sit in a bed-a-chair and watch people be sick. Forget that I'm a single dad of a teenaged daughter. Sure the laundry can wait until everyone is well. Did I mention I have a teenaged daughter? Try letting her laundry go for a few days. No groceries left in my house? A job? Bills to write and mail off? It can all wait! WE'RE SICK! Oh, by the way...could you pay a few of my bills on the way home when you leave?
Invariably you see parts of sick people's bodies that you just can't unsee when they're in the hospital. Hospitals smell funny. I just can't quite put my finger on that smell. Alien-like machines make sounds I'm not accustomed to. The other day, bells and whistles and strobe lights went off while I was just sitting in a hospital room wishing I wasn't there. Thought I'd won the jackpot until an army of nurses invaded the darkened room like a swat team. I casually rose from my chair and mentioned I needed to mosey on home..."Would you tell him if he wakes up?"
I've been a patient in a hospital several times throughout my life and honestly...I really don't want anybody staring at me while I puke in a gray tray the size of a ring box. Just let me be. I know there are people qualified to care for me just down the hall. I don't need spectators gawking at me while I drool on a hospital gown under the influence of morphine. I certainly don't want anyone sitting beside me in a bed-a-chair impatiently sighing in disgust, thinking 'Either get well or die...I got things to do!'
Nope, just give me a laptop and my magic vape stick. Send in a few pretty nurses every now and then to flirt with. I have a soft spot for nurses. They are all utterly undatable, mind you. Been there and done that and got the scars to prove it. I dunno, maybe it's the scrubs that turn me on.
So, my phone is charged...let's see. A voice message: "I know you're hiding from me! I need you to go over to my house and pick up the mail and drop it by so I can sign some checks. You need to pay my bills for me. Needs to be done today!"
Oh, and a text: 'Dad, you should see all these hot doctors up here! I need clean clothes BTW.'
I suppose sooner or later this will all pass...like a large gall stone. There's headlights coming down my road...it's the cops! One of those sick screwballs called 911 on me...making my get-a-way out the back door! Wish me luck!

A Spoonful of Imagination

I know I left y'all hanging last week...remember? The long tall little filly who discovered I was writing incognito? I hadn't been posting my stories on the internet very long when she happened into my life. Actually, she happened into my work place and immediately caught my eye. I didn't give her much serious thought for I was fully aware that I had about as much of a chance landing a date with her as I would Reba McEntire. She was the kind of woman you'd find on a rack at Dillards. Me, Goodwill. But she was eye candy as she trotted by my work station day in and day out on her way to the smoking area. Occasionally I'd sneak away from my duties and, quite by accident mind you, wind up out there at the precise moment she would. We hit it off in a 'friends' sort of way and eventually I took a tiny step toward striking up a flirtatious work related relationship. She readily reciprocated and the games were on. Meanwhile, secretly I was writing my weekly stories...well, mainly about her. (See one here) The more I wrote, the better our 'working relationship' became, until finally one day I asked her out on a date. And that's where she balked, using the excuse that she had three kids, two grandkids, and a son-in-law living underneath her roof. There just wasn't enough time in the day to allow herself to become involved with a man, she explained. I was good with that...I just went out dancing with other pretty little fillies on the weekends and wrote stories about them, too. Things became tense between us when I asked one of her co-workers out. In a story after that one date, I wrote, 'Next weekend I hope to dip her in the hot tub and play ride-um-cowboy with this little redhead.' And that's when my long tall filly let it slip, quoting those exact words followed by, "Think that's funny, don't you!" I thought it was pretty clever. Well, yes our flirtatious friendship fizzled after that, but it was my first indication that someone was actually reading my stories.
My preacher busted me as well. He was out of town one particular Sunday and a professor of theology filled in during his absense. I enjoyed his talk and having jotted down his twitter handle from the church bulletin, I shot off a message to him after church. He responded! Seems he was waiting at the airport for a flight back to Dallas, and thank you very much for my comment...and "hey, I see you're an author. I just bought your book to read on the flight home." Unfortunately, the book he purchased was 'The Search for the Perfect Woman,' not a book I'd recommend for a godly or even an overly educated man to read. I certainly would not want my pastor to get wind of it, but sure as shooting, as he took his place behind the pulpit the following Sunday, his stare focused on me. He slowly shook his head and as he opened his Bible a grin spread across his face. I got the message...and it was at that moment I made a decision to devote my talents to something of more substance than stories about chasing women in bars.
The point I'm trying to make is that as an author, there are many potholes, in fact vast chasms that one must cross when putting their work on public display. One is self-worth. How does one wish to be remembered when they're gone? As an author, my reputation with the masses of readers who may come in contact with my writing means something to me. I could probably write some pretty wild erotica. Matter of fact, I had a whole short story written in my head the other day as I stood behind a smoking hot little thing in a checkout line at Walmart. There she stood clutching a set of watercolors...and nothing to paint on. My imagination spiraled out of control. But, no. Truthfully it is not the millions of folks I will never meet who keep me in check. It is that pitifully few that I know personally. My family, friends, and co-workers. Oh, and pastors. I value my personal reputation too much to jeopardize it with those around me.
This is where an author takes on new challenges. Can I write a sultry love scene fit to be viewed by a pastor, a Sunday school teacher, or my child? Can I draw my reading audience into a moment of passion without using a single word unfit to be spoken in a church building? Can I as an author pit two characters head to head in heated conversation, and portray that scene fitfully without using four letter words? Yes, I can. And taking on a challenge of this magnitude makes me grow as an author.
In my last novel, 'The Chimera Parables,' there are two very mild curse words in chapter one. Once you get past those, you'll not find another cringe-worthy word throughout the entire book. I'd bet the farm you'd never notice their absense. I am currently on chapter four of a new novel, and it came to mind as I finished my nightly writing yesterday evening, I've yet to find an occasion to utilize 'shock and awe' words. Yes, pretty proud of achieving that. Pat myself on the back.
So what are you as a person worth? Whether you're a writer like myself, or a singer, a teacher, a mentor, or a parent, do you jeopardize your reputation, do you de-value your self worth, for the sake of 'shock and awe?' I find it a refreshing and rewarding challenge to take a high road. And let's face it...F-words lost their shock value long ago and there's nothing left to top 'Shades of Gray.' I cherish the challenge of taking a mere teaspoon of my personal imagination and turning it into a raging river flowing through your mind! An author worth his salt doesn't need much imagination. He just needs to figure out how to make the reader use theirs. Sometimes all you need is a beautiful woman, some watercolors, and a spoonful of imagination! [author:Rodney Strange|4719343}

Rent-A-Mom

Those of you who've followed my stories all these years already know this, but for some of the folks who have recently began following along, you may not know who I used to be. Well no, I figure you really don't care and no, I never was somebody famous. But up until a couple of years ago, I was the one your husband always wished he could be...secretly, of course. I was a legend around these parts, a Saturday night cowboy who lit up the faces of thousands of single women over the course of several years worth of Saturday nights. I'm not embellishing one bit when I tell you I've held thousands of women in my arms out there on the dance floor. Quite a number of them fell in love with me and I fell in love with them all. That was my problem...I never could bring myself to let go of all those women to love just one. Looking back, I figure it was mainly because out of all those women, I hadn't met the right one. I suppose I'd still be out there searching for the perfect woman at this moment if things hadn't turned out the way they did.
It was the prophet princess who warned me of a change in my life. She was by far prettier than all the women I'd met along the way, and in the course of a conversation one night, I mentioned that I couldn't understand how, out of all the women I'd met, I'd not found one who was a keeper. That's when she took my hand and stared at me with her sky blue eyes and said,
"God has something He needs you to do first."
I spent a full two years wondering and waiting on God to tell me what I needed to do, and in the process I found myself letting go of the life I had been living. I started venturing into the church building on Sunday morning, something I'd not done in all my adult life. I gave up the bar on Saturday night, didn't even have a single beer in the fridge, and I quit smoking. I curtailed my cussing and read my Bible. As time passed, I began to realize I was not the man I used to be...and still I waited.
And one day the wait was over. The Good Lord gave me my biggest assignment. There never has nor ever will be another of this magnitude...the biggest blessing of my lifetime. It was that day the winds of fate changed me from an ex-Saturday night woman chasing cowboy into a full time single parent. That same fate brought a fifteen year old girl, who had only known her daddy on a part time basis, into his home to to live. And life has not been the same since that day!
I hear these comments all the time, "She's a single mother...I just don't know how she does it!" Well I have the answer...A) She's a mother and B) She's a woman! I would never make light of any single mother's challenges, but dammit...try doing all this when you're a man! I'll be the first to confess we aren't built for this! No longer can I just nuke a chunk of smoked sausage in the microwave and call it supper. I have to cook! Laundry is no longer two small loads on a Saturday morning...it's two hefty loads every night! Things constantly disappear, like nail clippers and tweezers...and my money. I have to be social, no not at the bar...at volleyball games with all the other moms, married I must add. I fold clothes that I can't identify, scrub mascara out of the sink, and dump unknown items from the bathroom trash. I receive phone calls and texts from teachers and school nurses. I bake brownies and host sleepovers. I wash pots and pans then wash them again because they don't look clean enough...I never used to do that.
But the hardest part of this full time dad thing is...I do it all alone. There is no one to turn to for advice, to discuss my child's best interests. I find myself afraid sometimes, afraid I will fail her. And this I know...what's hard for me is even harder for her. A girl needs a mom and as hard as I try to be, I can't be a mom.
So I have this great idea and I just may make millions on it. Rent-A-Mom! Without even stressing my brain I can think of at least four other men who are raising their kids alone. I'm sure there are thousands more. I think I will pop an ad on Craigslist and see what turns up. Just fold the laundry, cook some supper, wash the dishes, and braid my little girl's hair...then go home! Unless she's really cute. No, scratch that. But if the Rent-A Mom works out, I'm going to franchise!

'Asking For Directions'

I decided to twist off this week and not write about the sad state of the world. Oh sure, there were a couple more school shootings that barely made the news this week. Then there's World War III breaking out over in the Middle East with Russia popping off missiles with the pin-point accuracy of North Korea. The Men in Black beheaded and crucified more Christians...and then there's the antics of our government, which you all know I don't even waste my breath talking about.
This week I want to take a break from all that and just tell you about the day I got lost. I know the first thing that passed through the minds of my female readers when they read that last sentence was, "And you're a man and wouldn't ask for directions." You are wrong, Chicklets! I did ask...and that is the story I wish to tell.
It was a beautiful fall-like Saturday morning that I sat out on my adventure to the city. My daughter's volleyball team had a game scheduled at LCHS in Lubbock, Texas . I had glanced at the schedule hanging on the fridge several times throughout the week, and in my mind, which is not always the right mind, I knew exactly where she was playing...a private Christian school in the center of Lubbock, right over by the K-mart. I had judged that it would take me forty minutes to get from here to there, and right on schedule that Saturday morning, I stepped out of the house at nine-fifteen. The clock on the dash of my pickup read nine-fifty five as I pulled into the parking lot. I switched the key off and stepped out onto the asphalt. That's when the eerie feeling swept over me. As I glanced around the empty parking lot, a wave of fear rushed through my body as I came to the realization I might not be at the right school. I glanced at a sign looming before me, 'Trinity Christian School.' I whipped my not-so-smart ten year old phone from it's holster and stared at the time. I had three minutes to find the right school.
Frantically I pulled out of the parking lot, and in a panic, swerved into the next parking lot I saw...a convenience store! Someone in that store would surely know where LCHS was! As I leapt from my vehicle, a postal worker exited the store. As hurried as I was at the moment, I immediately noticed she was unlike any postal worker I had ever seen. A long and lean little filly, her blonde hair in a pony tail, her official USPS issued shirt unbuttoned one button too many, and shorts far too short to be official licensed by the Post Office...she took my breath away just watching her saunter across the pavement toward her little square postal jeep.
"Excuse me, miss...um, Postal Officer!"
She paused and a broad smile spread across her face as I approached. I explained that I was lost and now sort of late to a volleyball game and could she tell me where in Lubbock, Texas LCHS was? She whipped her enormous iPhone 6 out from where I did not know, as her shorts could not possibly have pockets big enough to hold that thing.
"Let's just google it!" she excaimed, drawing her body closer to mine to share her screen with me. My heartbeat picked up a notch just watching her slender fingers type on the screen.
"Um, I think it would have to be Lubbock Cooper High School. It's about fifteen minutes from here."
I protested that I really was under the impression that I was looking for a Christian school...didn't she know of one with those same initials? Yes, she replied, there was a Lubbock Christian High School, but she had no clue where it might be. I hesitantly thanked her for her help, and with one more glance of over my shoulder to eye those long, tan legs, I bounced back into my truck, briefly pondering how it could be possible a mail carrier would not know where anything was.
Thirty minutes later, I again began my fruitless search for the illusive LCHS, having wasted prescious time and gas driving out to the Cooper High School only to discover that, alas, it was not the right LCHS. Perhaps it was Lubbock Coronado High School, a woman standing outside of Cooper High School had suggested. Frustrated, I had driven back to where I had begun my search. I ventured down the street a bit farther...ten miles, eventually passing a sign that read, 'Lubbock Christian University.' I held my hand to my forehead and sighed. The initials did not match up! LCU was not LCHS. Nevertheless, I pulled into the campus, all but abandoned on this fallish Saturday morning. I spotted a jogger on the sidewalk and rolled my window down and gave her a shout. She continued, oblivious to me, her headphones drowning out my voice. I desperately tapped my horn...and she stopped.
As she came toward my vehicle, I could see she was young, attractive, athletic, and bra-less. She stooped and stuck her head through the passenger window, her arms crossed, resting on the door. My eyes unavoidably focused on what could have been two very distinctly protruding marbles beneath her thin tank top. OMG, don't stare at those, I told myself silently, averting my eyes to...OMG, hairy armpits! Don't stare at those either! I forced my line of sight upward toward her face where I saw the most beautiful smile and the greenest green eyes staring back at me.
"Sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for LCHS?"
"Oh, it's right over there," she pointed her finger toward what appeared to be a stadium, "Just head toward those lights at the football field!"
"I did mention it was volleyball, not football?"
She giggled and spread her arms wide, armpit hairs blowing in the breeze, "Yes silly! The school sits right beside the football field."
Then she was gone. I watched her jog away, admiring her lime green Nike shorts, then turned the truck toward the lights.
Minutes later I scurried into the gym, making my way toward the rest of the parents of our volleyball team.
"Well it's about time!" several of the mothers chastised me.
"I liked to have never found this place. How much have I missed?" I questioned as I stared at my not-so smart phone, which told me it was just past eleven.
"About fifteen minutes. You know these games never start on time." One of the mothers responded, "You want some advice? Ask directions! Ask a woman! We'll never steer you wrong."
I nodded in faux agreement, my eyes focusing on my daughter on the court below. She glanced up into the stands, spotting her dad, and the faintest smile crossed her face. A huge sigh escaped from within me...I had made her game. Beyond the walls of that gymnasium, far from the city limits of Lubbock, past the boundaries of where I call home...the world may be crumbling beneath our feet. But at that exact moment, there was nothing more important than watching my daughter play volleyball.

Targeted in Po-dunk, Texas

There has been a flurry of reports passing across my Facebook page the past week and I think I should warn you about this activity. Some of my local friends and a host of other folks in our little po-dunk town raised alarm throughout the community when they began noticing their fences bearing an unfamiliar mark on the back gates leading into their alleys. Each marking was identical, an 'X' spray painted with gold paint. As they began to virtually discuss this amongst themselves on Facebook, more and more people joined in with their theories. Some declared that back yards that were home to family dogs were being targeted by low life types who would eventually return to steal Fido.. According to those in the loop, it was common practice to train fighting pit bulls with non-aggressive family pets. Numerous locals were up in arms at the thought of their dogs being maimed, tortured, and left to die an agonizing death. The momentum continued to escalate for several days until someone ventured along to discredit this theory.
No, they announced, it was not the family pet that was being targeted. In fact, a ring of thieves were setting up plans to raid numerous homes while the inhabitants were away, stealing everything that wasn't nailed down. They knew it was gospel truth as Fox News had aired a story about this identical method of operation somewhere over in New Mexico. Well, the group, which had now mushroomed into the hundreds, began plotting how they could fend off these burglaries. Being devout Texans and all, the discussion turned to self protection...yes, guns. Many openly taunted the would be burglars right there on Facebook.
"We'll blow you straight to hell!" they declared. Other's bragged about their arsenals of weaponry they maintained within their homes, a move I thought not so wise if there really were burglars lurking around. Another few days passed and the fury mounted. A citizen's army bearing weapons of mass destruction stood ready to assault. My eyes bulged as I read through the hundreds of posts and I found myself somewhat relieved that I lived out in the country where burglars rarely venture...townsfolk either, I thought to myself. I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized I felt relatively safe out here all alone.
But lo and behold, just hours before the war broke out, yet another expert came forward. Nay, he declared, it was neither dog poachers or burglars...but organized gangs. Yes, he was sure the markings were signs of the underworld. Those whose fences were marked were targeted for plundering, rape, torture, and death. Their houses would be torched afterward to cover the evidence. The facebook poster knew it to be true because his nephew's brother-in-law's sister's kid was in prison...and he knew about such things as this. The brave fervor that had covered the pages of facebook for days waned. Only a few admitted their fear. Others scurried to delete every remark they had so gallantly posted in the previous days. How could Po-dunk, Texas have drawn the attention of the most vicious scum of the land? We've all opted to live in the seclusion of west Texas to avoid the evil of the world. Why, oh, why has this plague come down upon us?
It was Friday night when it all became so crystal clear. A post appeared before my eyes and as I read it, tears came to my eyes. It read like this:
"Hi friends! I have been out of town all week and just came across this post. As you know, I own numerous rent houses throughout town and as I scanned through all these posts, I realized I own all the houses that have been marked. Just want you to know...I had instructed my maintenance man to mark all those fences for the spraying company I've hired to kill weeds in the alleyways. So sorry for the confusion, but you can rest easy knowing you will not have to mow weeds in your alleys this spring!"
So...the Walmart is out of gold spray paint...and dern near every fence in town has a gold mark on it. Out here in Po-dunk, Texas, we may be a little slow, but we ain't stupid, and we're sure not going to miss an opportunity to get our weeds sprayed for free!

'No Wooden Fences'

"Steerike three! Youuuur out!" The umpire threw his finger over his shoulder as umpires are paid to do and the pony tailed high schooler clad in a uniform worthy of a power ranger slumped her shoulders and made her way toward the dugout.
It was an unseasonably warm Saturday afternoon and I adjusted my sunglasses and smiled. I glanced toward my daughter, manning her station in the outfield, ready to pounce on the next softball that ventured her way. Yes, life is good, I thought to myself. It really doesn't get much better than this.
This is what we do out here in Po-dunkville, Texas. We live the simple life. You folks up there in the city wouldn't understand. In fact, you forcefully tell us so. There's no mall in your tiny town...nary a Starbucks, they remind us! Not hundreds of miles of city streets to escape to, mangled with thousands of cars containing tens of thousands of city people on a mission to discover something to spend their time and money on. Only rarely will the city folks opt to stay home in their quarter-million dollar homes, perhaps venturing out into a minuscule back yard once or twice a summer to cook a steak on their propane grill. I don't blame them. I attended a cookout a friend invited me to up in the city once. Twenty people crowded into a back yard about the size of my bathroom, each taking a seat in those fancy chair-in-a-bag chairs and while they seemed to be be enjoying themselves, drinking beer and chatting about what city folks chat about, I stared at the six foot high wooden fence the whole time...wondering, just wondering...mostly about what was on the other side of that fence. It finally got to me and I wandered toward the gate and opened it, then returned to my chair-in-a-bag. The crowd grew quiet, staring my direction. Whispers floated through the air as people shot me side-glances as if I might be someone they might want to keep their eye on. Finally I spoke sheepishly,
"It was getting a little stuffy in here."
My friend laughed and announced to the group, "Just overlook him. He's not from around here!"
Well, I thank God for that! It was just a year ago that I had seriously considered moving to the city. I had thought it through for months and became convinced that perhaps it was time for a change. I had talked myself into the idea that I would be comfortable enough in an apartment somewhere in the depths of a bustling metropolis. A single man I am, free as a feather in the wind! Why heck! I could become a regular at Starbucks, sitting and sipping...well, I don't remember what it's called since I only hit Starbucks about twice a year. I'd probably have lots of time to write lots of books up there in the city. I wouldn't have grass to mow. Wouldn't have grass to look at, matter of fact. Yes, it almost happened...until...
God didn't have the same plans for me. In the blink of an eye, my plans changed and it became clear that I'd just have to stay right here in Po-dunkville. As it became crystal clear that I was destined to stay a small town boy, I began to look at my surroundings with a fresh set of eyes. I realized I could see pretty well here since there were no six foot wooden fences blocking my view. For the first time in a very long time, I realized I have been blessed all my life with the opportunity to live in a small rural community and all it has to offer.
It'd be hard for me to make you understand the difference between small town life and city life. Well yes, I have a general idea what city life is like. I think city folks probably waste a large part of their life waiting for the light to change. I mean that literally, as in there sure are lots of traffic lights in the city. We have two...maybe three...and they blink yellow after dark. There's more to it. We not only know each other...we care about each other. We have history with each other. We've sat together on cold steel bleachers watching our kids play ball. We bump into each other at weddings and funerals, and at church. Yes, we've prayed together and probably drank a beer together at one time or another.
Just the other night my daughter and I stepped into my favorite BBQ place in town and, barely inside the door, my eyes grew wide as I spotted a woman I had a few dates with once upon a time...waiting tables! No, our dating adventure didn't end badly, but it did end and some women hold a grudge about such things. But you know what the cool thing was? Not only did I know...and that waitress know...everybody else in there knew we had dated, and by gosh, that's what small towns are all about! I was getting texts while I dined on succulent barbecued brisket...from the staff giving me the heads up on this woman's schedule. Now I know when I can go eat barbecue without worrying about bumping into her. See, folks in small towns got your back!
Out here in Po-dunk, Texas, there are no fences to hold us back and very few red lights to slow us down on our quest to live life to the fullest! And heck...I have another softball game to go to. Just got a text from somebody that said the coast is clear...no old girlfriends in the bleachers!

'Chucky Chicken Sees Fifty Shades'

Old Freddy Farmer stepped out of his old Chevy pickup, pulling his cap down lower across his brow to shield his head from the icy wind that seemed to blow right through him. Tugging at the shoulder straps of his baggy overalls, he reached across the seat and gently picked up his pet rooster, Chucky Chicken. Tucking the bird securely under his arm, he then scurried across the parking lot toward the movie theater, glancing up at the marquee. "Fifty Shades of Gray,' it read.
He eagerly approached the ticket window and announced, "Ticket for one, please!"
The woman behind the glass spotted the chicken he cradled and tartly responded, "Sir, we do not allow chickens in our movie theater!"
Dishearted, Freddy Farmer turned slowly away, then a bright idea popped into his head. Stepping around the corner and out of sight, he stuffed Chucky Chicken into his over sized overalls and with a smile returned to purchase his ticket. Once in the darkened theater, he seated himself beside two elderly women and anxiously waited for the movie to start. As the opening credits began to roll, Chucky Chicken began to stir inside Freddy Farmer's overalls. Fearing he'd be discovered and forced to leave, Freddy unzipped his fly to allow Chucky to stick his head out. The pet rooster settled down and Freddy became engrossed in the movie.
Directly, the old woman sitting next to Freddy elbowed her companion and whispered in her ear,
"That old man next to me has unzipped his pants," She lowered her voice even more and finished her sentence, "and well, it's just sticking straight out!"
Her friend peaked over in the darkness trying to see and responded, "Oh lordy Mable, just ignore him. At our age, we've seen it all anyway."
"No, you don't understand! It's eating my popcorn!"
Yeah I couldn't resist sharing that joke with you. From what I've heard, 'Fifty Shades' is little more than a joke anyway. No, I won't see it. I have no desire. But, as gross as the image of a man entering a theater alone, seating himself next to a complete stranger, female nonetheless, to view this sexcapade, it's pale in comparison to what many of you have already done. You took someone with you and sat there to watch it!
Hells Bells! Would you take someone to see 'Fifty Shades' on a first date? I suppose you'd get an idea of what they're made of. Reminds me of a first date with some little redheaded school teacher some years back. It was some Cameron Diaz movie, nothing nearly as raunchy as this, but OMG! I tried numerous times to crawl under the seats and hide...I literally covered my eyes once or twice. No, we didn't have a second date. I'm sorry but if I had a wife, I can't imagine taking her to see this movie, especially on Valentines Day! Going home and cozying up beneath the covers after seeing all those ropes and duct tape...and whips. Talk about pressure! Alright, call me old fashioned. Stick in the mud, I am.
I don't have cable...no HBO or Skinamax. Porn, and mind you I'm single and allowed, is not for me. This movie isn't even porn. It's sick, twisted, deviant behavior. Those of you who went to see this movie...some of you think we need to outlaw guns, because guns kill people. What does stuff like this do? I suppose we'll find out. Watch it on the evening news.
I know girls, you loved the book. Pure fantasy that took you places you'd never go in real life. There are people who will go there, whether you want them to or not. Heck, I could probably write something like that. Sure wouldn't put my name on it. Wouldn't lay my head on my pillow at night with a clear conscious. Wouldn't want my kids or my mom to know I wrote it. Sure wouldn't want my God to know!
How have we come to this point in history where we allow this trash to become mainstream? Not just that...it's busting records. A bazillion bucks will be made! But, not so long ago, one would have to slither over to the seedy side of town to see this. You'd have to sit next to some shaggy, skuzzy fiend wearing nothing but a trenchcoat..and no, that ain't a chicken he's holding in his hand. You sure as shootin' wouldn't have taken your wife. And you probably wouldn't have wanted your daughter to see it.
I'm not a prude. I've seen more of Miley Cyrus than I ever thought I would and no I didn't cover my eyes. I can sin with the best and the rest of the Southern Baptists. I can be a bad boy. Temptation gets the best of me sometimes. I have turned my head to watch some woman jiggle past me. I'll do it again. But to pay nine bucks to see a poorly written novel turned into a poorly made movie just for the shock value of it all...that's not me. I have to answer to my Maker, and I'd sure have to search long and hard for the answer to 'Why?' On the upside...Spongebob Squarepants Movie!

Dreams That Do Come True

One night in the early '90's I had a dream so overwhelming it compelled me to write it down...over twenty years later, I completed a novel inspired by that dream. That oh-so vivid dream burned an imprint into my mind that years later, up to the moment I write this, even with the written note long lost, I still am able to replay it without hesitation. It was the first of a series of dreams that came to me in that period of my life, each one life-like and unforgettable. Unaware at the time, these dreams signaled a trying and life changing period that would soon arise before me. Over the course of the next year, as events came to pass, one by one...those dreams became reality.
I've been fascinated by dreams and their origins since those days. I've sliced it and diced it, dissected it and analyzed it. Well no, I have no revelations to share with you, no hard core facts. But there is something there. I know there are nay-sayers out there who are shaking their heads as they read this. If you've never experienced this, you wouldn't understand...and I understand.
I must share with you that once all the events played out over the course of that next twelve months, the dreams ceased. There were no more. Throughout the coming years, I'd find myself just as troubled and confused by that fact as I had been with the dreams themselves. Why had I only experienced these visions in the middle of the night during that period of my life? I have certainly had more than my share of life altering experiences since that time, yet no dreams to warn me had come. I continued plunging forward with my life for the next two decades without so much as a premonition to guide me. Looking back, I suppose I made it through just dandy. But still there was always that haunting question...why?
Three years after my first dream, I sat down in front of a word processor, some of you remember that predecessor to our computers, and began typing out a story based on the dream. I worked diligently for several months and as I wrapped up my story and presented the seventy page rought draft to my wife for her evaluation, was dishearted when all I got was a 'eh.' And so I buried it in a box at the top of a closet that contained other papers and documents that one would likely never need...and I forgot about it.
Then one day last year as I raffled through the box insearch for some long forgotten paper, I discovered it. Finding myself between books, I considered the notion of rewriting this novel. And with that, I began. With a bit of spit and polish and a couple of books under my belt, I felt I could turn this once abandoned tale into something of value. Still, even with the plot and main characters on paper before me, I found myself struggling. As I completed my first chapter late one night, I trudged to bed, admittedly discouraged and doubtful in my ability.
I awoke the following morning with one thought in my head. Unlike my typical morning risings, I leaped from the bed and excitedly hurried to the computer and began writing. It had come to me in the night, not as a dream or a vision...but as instructions...do this! Throughout the following months, I'd wake up with more ideas for my novel. The book bagan to take shape and direction...a direction even I had not expected. What was sure to come out in the wash as nothing more than a predictable romantic adventure was now becoming a compelling story of one man's journey to find something he wasn't even aware he was searching for. I surprised myself at times as I pounded frantically on the keyboard, setting the words down that seemingly came from beyond my very mind.
Throughout my writing of this novel, I now searched for more answers. Where was this all coming from? These revelations weren't coming to me in the form of dreams or visions...they were coming to me as if spoken into my ear as I slept. And then the answer to my queries came, an answer that in itself would solidify the purpose of the entire book. This awe-inspiring realization would be the mortor that would bound this book together. And now you wish to know?
The dreams I had back in the early nineties, vivid as they were, never vividly depicted the events that would soon come. It was only as those events came to pass that I would realize the meanings of the dreams from months earlier. In this novel, our hero experiences much of the same...garbled, confusing visions that he struggles to decipher, knowing if he could only translate the meanng of the dreams, they would lead him in the right direction in his quest. His inner struggles with himself become the true quest. When his path crosses with that of a wise mentor who could give him the answers he searches for, the pieces all come together.
The dreams, both for my star character and for myself back so many years ago, came as parables...stories such as Jesus so aptly shared when He walked the earth. Only those who listened with their hearts could understand. Back in the days of my dreams, God was not an important factor in my life. Sure, I believed in God, but...you know,right? It became crystal clear to me as I wrote this book that God had tried to speak to me the only way I would listen back so long ago...in a dream. Today I never allow myself to stray too far from God. He doesn't have to talk to me in a dream anymore...He just whispers what I need to know!
In fact, I awoke just the other morning and I had the title for my third book ringing in my ear! And it is AWESOME! No, I'm not telling you...

'Where Did You Hide The Money Honey'

I read on Time.com that somewhere around 44% of all husbands hide money from their wives. Well, I don't blame them...and there goes 50% of my reader fan base. So, now that it's just us guys...y'all know what I mean, don't you! Sure, sweetie has her own job and her own money. We all know what's hers is hers and when it's gone, what's yours is hers. And that's just the way it is.
I'm not looking for a fight here. I don't recall whether the author of the articIe I read was male or female, but I'd bet on the latter. It was a man-slamming piece intended to enlighten women to the fact that we men are holding out on them. In fact, in a follow up article, our wives are tipped off to the revelation that 23% of husbands actually have a secret bank account, which from my point of view seems to be a smart move if we're going to hide our money from our wives in a secure manner. I do know of one man who just hides his money in the drawer his wife keeps her sexy lingerie in. He says he's done it for years and she's yet to find it.
We of the male gender are non-aggressive people. We really don't like confrontation especially with the opposite sex for there is no such thing as winning with them. It should be simple..
."Honey, this hundred dollar bill is mine. I worked hard for it all week. You can have the rest of my paycheck to do whatever you want with it....deal?"
Now come on guys, you know how that's going to go down. All that did was set the wheels in motion. She won't say anything but she's thinking it. Now she's convincing herself that you have a girlfriend on the side. A hundred bucks would buy your girlfriend some flowers...and lunch. Yep, you're probably spending your lunch hours with the new chick down in Human Resources. You sorry dog!
In reality, your wife's birthday is next month and you know how difficult it is to put back a little cash for her special day. If you could just stash a few twenties back from a paycheck or two, you could really surprise her with a steak from her favorite restaurant and maybe get her those diamond earrings she's been wanting. For deep down in your heart, you yearn to show her how much you love her.
Meanwhile, she is plotting your demise! How dare you so blantently take a hundred dollars of your own money! Yes, she is convinced you are cheating on her! She'll show you, buddy boy! When she's through with you, she'll have the house, the Subarban, and you'll be paying child support for decades! And so to avoid all that you do what I would do. You slip a few bills out here and there and tuck them away. You don't tell her and pray she doesn't find out, for there will surely be hell to pay. It's so much easier keeping it a secret, right?
I had a wife once...well, I've had more than one. But this particular wife (shudder) was the one who taught me a thing or two. For instance...how to hide money and yes, even open up a secret account to keep it in. This wife really liked money! I couldn't tell seeing how we never had any. It all started about this time of year, back in 1992, I think it was. It was a Friday evening and after supper, I decided I'd set down and start preparing my tax return. I gathered the necessary stuff together and stacked them on the dining table, hunted down my solar powered calculator, and stood staring at the task awaiting me. Glancing over at my wife, who was doing the dishes, I announced,
"Honey, I think I might run and get a six pack of beer before I start this."
She froze, her eyes staring straight ahead, in thought.
"Oh, I don't know if that's a good idea. This week is going to be pretty tight with the money. It would run us short."
I stared down at the W-2 form laying on the table...A hundred thousand and change in 1991. Back in '92 that was like a quarter million, right? My mind pondered the fact that it was Friday...payday...and we couldn't afford a three dollar six pack of beer?
So over the course of the next few days I started snooping and discovered I had credit cards I never knew I had. Every credit card known to man! Sears, J C Penny, Discover (gasp!) and of course the typical Visas and Mastercards. I also discovered most were overdue. In the course of my investigation, I'd occasionally gander around the house in search of a clue as to where the money was going. Nope, no clues. Perhaps she was hiding money from me?
Over two decades later I still don't have the answer. But within a week of my discovery back in '92 I had opened a secret bank account and began socking away my bonuses and every other spare dime I came across. Over the course of the next year I accumulated an impressive nest egg in spite of my wife's addiction to spending. To make a long story short, I kicked the wife to the curb a year or so later, paid off all her debts...and as luck would have it, wound up with another wife. But this time it was different. I made it clear to her up front that if we were going to get in it for the long haul, there'd be a few rules, number one: My money was my money and her money was her money, and if she ran out of her money, my money was not her money. Believe it or not, everything rocked along exceptionally well financially. Not once did we squabble about money. And we lived happily ever after for seven years...The End